That same fall Sager and Haskins were engaged by the Rockford team, and I have always thought that it was due to the representations made by them that I was engaged to play with the Forest Citys the following season. I signed with them for a salary of sixty-six dollars a month, which was then considered a fairly good salary for a ball player, and especially one who was only eighteen years old and a green country lad at that.
All that winter Sager and I practiced as best we could in the loft of my father's barn and I worked as hard as I knew how in order to become proficient in the ball-playing art.
Before saying farewell to Marshalltown and its ball players let me relate a most ludicrous incident that took place there some time before my departure. A feeling of most intense rivalry in the base-ball line existed between Des Moines and Clinton, Iowa, and one time when the former had a match on with the latter I received an offer of fifty dollars from the Clinton team to go on there and play with them in a single game.
Now fifty dollars at that time was more money than I had ever had at any one time in my life, and so without consulting any one I determined to accept the offer. I knew that I would be compelled to disguise myself in order to escape recognition either by members of the Des Moines team or by some of the spectators, and this I proceeded to do by dying my hair, staining my skin, etc.
I did not think that my own father could recognize me, when I completed my preparations and started to the depot to take the train for Des Moines, but that was where I made a mistake. The old gentleman ran against me on the platform, penetrated my disguise at once and asked me where I was going. I told him, and then he remarked that I should do no such thing, and he started me back home in a hurry. When he got there he gave me a lecture, told me that such a proceeding on my part was not honest and would ruin my reputation. In fact, he made me thoroughly ashamed of myself. The team from Clinton had to get along without my services, but I shall never forget what a time I had in getting the dye out of my hair and the stain from my skin.
That fifty dollars that I didn't get bothered me, too, for a long time afterwards. I am glad now, however, that the old gentleman prevented me getting it. Dishonesty does not pay in base-ball any better than it does in any other business, and that I learned the lesson early in life is a part of my good fortune.
[CHAPTER VI. MY EXPERIENCE AT ROCKFORD.]
I can remember almost as well as if it were but yesterday my first experience as a ball player at Rockford. It was early in the spring, and so cold that a winter overcoat was comfortable. I had been there but a day or two when I received orders from the management to report one afternoon at the ball grounds for practice. It was a day better fitted for telling stories around a blazing fire than for playing ball, but orders were orders, and I obeyed them. I soon found that it was to test my qualities as a batsman that I had been ordered to report. A bleak March wind blew across the enclosure, and as I doffed my coat and took my stand at the plate I shivered as though suffering from the ague. This was partially from the effects of the cold and partially from the effects of what actors call stage fright, and I do not mind saying right now that the latter had more than the former to do with it. You must remember that I was "a stranger in a strange land," a "kid" both as to years and experience, with a knowledge that my future very largely depended upon the showing that I might make.
Facing me was "Cherokee Fisher," one of the swiftest of the old-time underhand pitchers, a man that I had heard a great deal about, but whom I had never before seen, while watching my every move from the stand were the directors of the team, conspicuous among them being Hiram Waldo, whose judgment in base-ball matters was at that time second to no man's in the West, and a man that I have always been proud to call my friend.
I can remember now that I had spent some considerable time in selecting a bat and that I was wondering in my own mind whether I should be able to hit the ball or not. Finally Fisher began sending them in with all the speed for which he was noted. I let a couple go by and then I slammed one out in the right field, and with that first hit my confidence came back to me. From that time on I batted Fisher successfully, but the most of my hits were to the right field, owing to the fact that I could not at that time successfully gauge his delivery, which was much swifter than anything that I had ever been up against.